Zzzzzz. Wait. What? Where am I?
Those of you with kids may recall the sleep deprivation of the early baby days. When we were in the depths of those first weeks of having two children, I remember my sister reminding me that sleep deprivation is, indeed, a form of torture. I'm probably not giving away any valuable information here, if I was to inform you that if you ever need to extract information from me? Yep. Sleep deprivation. Disturb my REM for a few nights running and I'll sing like a canary.
According to Wikipedia, my favorite--and yet possibly most frequently inaccurate--source of information: Sleep deprivation is used as an interrogation technique (for example, in Pinochet-era Chile, the Soviet Union, or by the U.S. on Guantanamo-held prisoners). Interrogation victims are kept awake for several days; when they are finally allowed to fall asleep, they are suddenly awakened and questioned [or required to run in and out of a young child's room repeatedly over the course of a night].
How did I make it through the boys' infancy, let alone Finn's cancer? I'm seriously out of sleep deprivation practice apparently. Over the course of these last nearly two weeks, Finn has gone from croup to head cold to sinus infection to ear infection. Clearly I'm no longer cut out to handle the pressure, leading me to stagger into his room after four or five times and beg him to just go to sleep and then dump a bottle of ibuprofen down his throat. It actually seems to be an effective strategy. I think I'll probably stick with it.
I'm a woman on the edge, people. On the edge. I need to go to bed, but now I'm staying up past my bedtime to watch the Top Chef finale because I forgot it was on earlier and missed it.
Clearly I have no priorities.
I wonder how long until I fall asleep and miss the ending?